Vertigo
by Acajou Amarth
Summary: Buffy is dead and-... not quite gone yet. She is stuck watching her friends' and Dawn's lives without her, as well as a certain ex-enemy who keeps a promise. When the Scoobies make the plan to ressurect her, Buffy has a choice to make... Spuffy, S.5/6
1. Chapter 1

**_Diclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' is nowhere near mine. If it was, would Spike have died? Okay, he probably would have, but Buffy would have died with him. _**

**_Summary: Buffy is dead and-... not quite gone yet. Something is keeping her around to watch her friends' and Dawn's lives without her, as well as a certain ex-enemy who keeps a promise. When the Scoobies make the plan to ressurect her, Buffy has a choice to make..._**

**_Setting: Between the last few minutes of Season 5 and the first double-episode of Season 6. Probably three chapters._**

**_Rating: T_**

**_A/N: I know I should be posting the final chapter of 'Your heart's desire' right now, but this little idea has been plaguing me for quite a while now (it's also been done a hundred times, but I still want to do my own take on it) and today, I finally sat down and wrote the first chapter. _**

**_ It shouldn't be too long, probably three to five chapters and I hope you'll find Buffy's character development and the happenings in the Scoobies' lives to be realistic. I always try to be as canon as possible, while giving Buffy a chance to fall in love with Spike. _**

**_ Seeing as I love them so, so much, this will contain a lot of Spike and Dawn scenes, some Buffybot wackiness and Anya. :P_**

**_ For some reason, BtVS is angsty enough for me to want to write fluffy stuff... That's strange, because I usually write angst. But that's why I love the show. _**

**_ I hope you enjoy this story and take the time to leave me a review! :)_  
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><p><strong>Vertigo<strong>

It was a strange feeling, being ripped away from your body. Not necessarily painful after the initial bolts of dimensional energy, not even violating, but very, very weird. Like there was a pull back to her falling self, but a push in the other direction. Thank some merciful being above; this occurred before she hit the ground.

She was grateful she wasn't afraid of heights, though. Or hadn't been, when she jumped. It would have been a whole lot more difficult to go up there on that rusty, very unstable-seeming tower if she had been, let alone throw herself down there.

But it had all made sense and she wouldn't have had time to be scared even if being up so high had frightened her.

Buffy had expected to die. It was too soon, of course, but then again, it always was. Besides your imminent death was the kind of thing you simply began to accept one day, especially if you were a Slayer with a life expectancy of twenty. Or if you were about to face an exiled hell god with a bad perm who was out to kill your sister, the mythical key to her dimension.

Speaking of dimensions, she had yet to leave this one. While being incorporeal and watching her body crash into the remains of battle, her mind was still very much there. Wasn't it supposed to be soul only? Possibly making with the warm and fuzzy? After everything she'd done, you'd think she'd at least go to heaven or someplace like that. Maybe that would come later.

For now, she watched Dawnie slowly climb off the tower, obviously in shock, one foot after the other, hand holding to one thing after the other.

Buffy was proud of the little speech she had come up with. Normally, she wasn't one to depend on words, all action and no talky, but this time, she had actually found the exact right things to say. Of course that wouldn't make the grief more bearable, especially because her mom's death and Buffy's had followed each other so closely, but it would be a comfort and something to hold on to. She wished she didn't have to cause Dawn sorrow, but if it came down to making her lose her and letting her kill herself to save the world – which was her job anyway - it wasn't exactly a choice.

And this wasn't the worst place, where she was now. At least the pain was gone, the physical aching and the pressure of being the Chosen One. She had died a good death, a worthy death, one that had saved a life she cared about and probably some others, too. Buffy Summers had gone out like a warrior, like a martyr and she could honestly say that Giles would probably be proud of her as soon as he got over the fact that this meant she wasn't alive anymore. She was definitely proud of herself.

Giles was standing over Ben, who didn't seem to be breathing anymore. It was clear he had killed the man, an innocent as far as innocence can go when you share your body with a murderous bitch like Glory. But even that was alright. As sorry as she was and as much as she knew she never would have done the same, it was a relief to know Dawn would never be in danger from the hell god again. If she was alive, she'd have to have a serious talk with Giles about his brutal actions and harsh decision, but she wasn't and honestly, after Ben hadn't let her sister go, he wasn't exactly up there on her list of good guys.

The hard part was yet to come, she suddenly realized. For her, it was already over. She was dead and while not completely gone yet, she would probably be soon. Even for Dawnie, the worst was behind her. She had already let her go, even if the pain of missing her was still ahead of her. But the others? They were going to find her, see her body that lay there so peacefully, looking so much less broken than it was. She had even miraculously landed on her back. If you could look past the scene around her, the body of Buffy Summers looked very much like it was sleeping.

Not like her mom, who had just looked dead. Hers hadn't been a romantic death, a necessary one. It had just been cruel and senseless and excruciating. And Buffy hadn't been able to do anything to help. At least in her own demise, she had been able to make a choice.

And she would see her mom again, now, wouldn't she? If someone up there wasn't playing mind games with her, she would go to the same heaven, dimension, whatever her mom had disappeared to. She would be with her again. That thought alone was enough to comfort her, warm her to the core of her decidedly bodiless being. She would see Mom again. If she could smile, she would.

But she did wonder when that reunion would occur, because for now, it didn't seem like her soul was in a hurry to get there. Something was keeping her here and she didn't like the thought of this being to let her have one final goodbye. She had already said her goodbyes, had already moved on. What good would it be to watch her friends and family cry over her dead body? It wouldn't make things easier, seriously.

Like with Xander, good, sweet Xander who was currently brushing a lock of hair from Anya's face. She was fine, as far as Buffy could tell, had only gotten hurt a little, a bit out of it and very weak, but she would survive and be her annoying ex-demony self again in no time. Xander, however already looked as if his world was crumbling down at just the thought of losing her and while Anya wouldn't die, he would soon discover that his friend hadn't made it.

And Willow… God, Willow. Willow had actually seen her fall, had looked up in that precise moment when she jumped, as if she had been able to feel it. Her leg was injured and she was leaning on Tara and she was frozen, just staring at the place where Buffy was lying. And then she was moving, the love of her life – restored to sanity – supporting her and the tears running down her face almost broke Buffy. When Willow cried-… nothing was worse than when Willow cried.

Except maybe for-… Giles was on his way now, a broken man who had finally spotted the girl he regarded as his daughter. It was so hard to watch, the lines suddenly forming on his face, his heavy, trance-like steps, how hard he shook with suppressed emotion. He looked as if he had suddenly lost years of his life and at the same time, she had never seen him so young, so vulnerable. He was _Giles_. He wasn't supposed to be so-… broken.

Xander was carrying Anya, his face blank with shock, hers actually teary.

'The hardest thing in this world is to live in it?' Not living in it and having to be there for this was so much harder!

And Dawn-…

Please, whoever wasn't letting her pass, she didn't need to see this. Please.

So she looked at the other person who had fought with them, the one she had ignored up until now. He was a vampire. Sure, he cared about her, had proven that and stood by her side as the person she could depend on most in this battle, but he wouldn't be as difficult to watch as the others. She didn't care about him as much as the others and he wouldn't grieve anywhere near as hard.

Then she saw him and suddenly had the sensation of falling backwards. Not even when she was in the middle of jumping toward certain death or through a mystical field of dimensional energy had she experienced this sense of-… of vertigo.

He was making her crash right back to earth and this time, she was terrified.

Spike was limping, an injury he had obviously obtained during his own fall off the tower. She had seen it, the panic, the horror in his gaze as he fell past her. That stupid old demon guy who had cut Dawn must have shoved him off while he was trying to protect her.

His eyes were impossibly wide. Had she ever even noticed how insanely blue they were?

She hadn't paid much attention to him, had merely taken his help for granted, gratefully accepting it. He was strong, he was a vampire and if she couldn't have Angel fighting at her side, she'd have to make do with Spike. Weird and creepy obsession with her aside, he was a valuable ally and he would never intentionally hurt her or hers. Her friends had disapproved – except for her sister, who for some strange reason actually liked him – but she had known she could count on him to keep Dawnie safe. He had promised and she had believed him. She had trusted him.

She still did trust him.

She hadn't counted on him looking like a man. To her, he had been a vampire first and foremost, a wealth of strength and arrogance and now he freakin' fell to his knees upon seeing her dead form.

That just didn't make any sense. He might believe himself to be in love with her, but without a soul, that wasn't actually possible; ridiculous, even. Being with Angel had taught her that much, not to mention all the other idiot vamps she had come across whose only thoughts were on the following topics: blood, kill, murder, mayhem, blood, plotting to destroy something or other, occasionally the world, blood. Sex, sometimes. But mostly blood.

And here Spike was and he was sobbing helplessly into his hand like a man who had lost the love of his life.

She didn't like what that did to his face, the way it crumbled. He was a handsome guy, she had noticed that. Despite his impossible fashion sense and the hair that was faker blond than hers – okay, he could pull off both - he was pretty good-looking. After all, there were the cheekbones and the eyes, his lean built and unintimidating height. Even that scar in his eyebrow was kind of sexy. Plus, from what she hadn't been erasing from her mind with wonder wash, he was a pretty good kisser and had some seriously defined muscles going on beneath that black leather duster.

How often had she cursed Willow for that 'will-be-done' spell… Without that, she never would have spared him a glance. Or a grope.

Her mind flashed back to the night he had taught her all about Slayers. As much as she hadn't liked him at all back then, she couldn't remember ever wanting to give in half as much. Just kiss him and let him do all kinds of naughty things to her body. Possibly do a naughty or two of her own to his. There had been so much lust building in her… She didn't even want to know what would have happened if she hadn't gone straight into self-defense mode. She had shoved him to the ground, spawn some hateful words his way and thrown money at him like at a cheep street hooker.

For once, he hadn't done anything to warrant behavior like hers that night. And the clincher had been when he had shown up at her house, obviously to kill her – the rifle had been kind of a dead give-away – and comforted her about her mom instead. If she hadn't felt so lousy already, she might have actually experienced quite the guilt trip.

Which she was belatedly doing now.

And hey! She was dead, wasn't she? How could she even guilt-trip at all? No fair…

Whatever. Since then, she had done some serious lusting, even though it disgusted her. She didn't give a crap about him as a person, but no one could tell her he wasn't insanely hot.

And she probably shouldn't be thinking about that right now. What had been her point? Oh yeah, right. Spike wasn't supposed to act like a man. But he grieved at least as much as her best friends and her sister and that was-… confusing? Shocking? World-view-shattering? Vertigo-invoking?

With a mental (souly?) frown, Buffy realized she probably wouldn't move on to the next level so soon, after all.

**_To be continued..._**


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Wow, this is really going well so far! I didn't expect to be able to update again so soon, but I sat down today to begin writing chapter two and went on to finish it with no problems within two hours._**

**_I'm especially proud of the second part of this chapter, which is in Spike's POV. It turned out incredibly angsty (and while I was going for hurt/comfort, I didn't mean to get so dark and delve so deeply into his psyche) and I can honestly say that I love it. Some stuff just writes itself and I'm glad I randomly decided to do this flashback from his POV and not Buffy's as a normal narration._**

**_Please drop me a line after reading - reviews are like delicious lasagna. :)_**

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><p><strong>Vertigo - Part II<br>**

It had been three days now and she was still there.

Her funeral had been a quiet affair, no one there but the Scoobies, Dawn and Spike. They hadn't reached her dad, the number having been out of order for some time now, but they were still trying to locate him, if only for Dawn's sake.

Buffy was mighty pissed at Hank Summers. He didn't even know his ex-wife was dead, let alone one of his daughters! Wasn't it bad enough that he had abandoned them completely and wasn't remotely helping to pay the bills? Dawnie would need a new legal guardian – and that might prove to be a wee bit difficult, seeing as her death was not information privy to the authorities.

The reason for that was simple: The Sunnydale underworld could absolutely not be made aware of her demise until a new Slayer had stepped forth to keep them in line. But the sinking feeling was going around that the Slayer line might very well be going through Faith since Buffy's first death. Surely, she couldn't be the only Chosen One to die twice, right? Giles was investigating.

Buffy wondered what would happen if that was indeed the case. If Faith was all there was left, shouldn't someone be giving the girl a serious crash-course in morals right about now? (Or try to kill her, seeing as that was very much something the Council would consider.)

Angel might be fit for the job. He and Faith had bonded before. If there was anyone equipped to pull her back to the good side, it was probably him.

He hadn't come to the funeral. Buffy couldn't hold it against him. She knew it wasn't because he didn't care but because he was the kind of person who needed to grieve on his own. She was relieved they had called him at all – what with the major Angel-hating the Scoobies and even Dawn and Spike had going on – but it had been Xander of all people to pick up the phone.

Buffy had tried going to LA to check up on how her ex-love was doing, but had found that she was confined to the people who had been there when she died. Between them, she could go wherever she wanted, but if she tried moving past them in any way, she got pulled back.

So she had to be there for her funeral, too. She approved of the clothing choice Willow and Tara had picked out for her together, felt touched when Dawn had insisted to do her hair herself, liked the coffin Giles had bought well enough, though the thought of lying in it gave her the creeps. Even the headstone was to her taste.

"She saved the world a lot."

Only Xander could have chosen that (and he had). It was perfect, sassy instead of sappy, just what she would have wanted. Plus, recognition for her work was awesome. She had, after all, died doing exactly that.

Now as to someone continuing it… Willow was working on the Buffybot. Not the perfect choice, seeing as the thing was supposed to be a sex toy for a deranged vampire, but it did pack a decent punch and if she managed to program it right, that insufferably bright smile might actually soften into proper facial expressions.

Giles had voiced his concern the day after the battle, how it might create a lot more danger than they could deal with if the vampires and demons resident to the Hellmouth heard the Slayer was gone. She had been able to tell how hard it was for him to even say anything at all, because it meant acknowledging Buffy's death, but though out of a job, he was a watcher still and he had to play his part in protecting the innocent. He'd notified the Council and started working on whether Faith was it or if there was a new Slayer out and about, but for now, they had to find a solution real quick.

It had been Anya – a bandage around her head and still a bit shaky, but mostly back to her old form personality-wise – who had suggested using the robot. There had been half-hearted protest, but in the end, everyone had quickly understood that even though it was a slightly gross and definitely painful idea, it was the best chance they had to stall.

Xander had insisted Spike go get it – the Buffybot had been left headless on the foot of the tower – and quiet as he was these days, he had gone without complaint.

She had followed him, a silent presence haunting a silent presence. She did that a lot. Follow Spike. It was less painful and more intriguing to watch him, now that she was over the initial shock.

He wasn't as vocal about his grief as she would have expected – it had been so hard to shut him up at all before. If you didn't count one fit of drunken aggression in which he had basically smashed his crypt, he wasn't acting like Spike at all. Even then, he had cleaned up immediately after, because Dawn was coming over the next morning.

He didn't watch his beloved 'Passions' anymore, only if Dawn was there and made him do it - a heartbreaking attempt to take care of him as he did of her – didn't seem to care much about anything. He drank himself to sleep if he didn't have anything useful to do around the house or was exhausted from demon-hunting and woke up in tears with her name on his lips. Every once in a while, he would write something in a small blood-red notebook and scratch it out again. He didn't eat (or in his case, drink) more than absolutely necessary and even the violence of patrols amused him a lot less than it would have before.

Willow washed his clothes, Tara was a quiet rock of support for him, Anya forced him to go get black market artifacts to sell at the magic shop, he occasionally drank a cup of tea with Giles and even Xander never objected to his slaying plans and suggestions or the mere fact that he was deemed trustworthy enough to look after Dawn. Her little sister made sure he ate regularly and spent every moment she could with him. If he wasn't so distant, she would have started referring to him as a Scoobie.

It was fascinating how he was more of a walking zombie than a vampire the last few days, so she followed him.

Like when he had retrieved the Buffybot. His steps had been firm, his pace fast, but not hurrying, a picture of force and determination, but not quite there mentally. She was becoming obsessed with his eyes, always varying between dead and dull and brighter and more expressive than any others she had ever seen. They were a wealth of pain deeper than a vamp should be able to feel. She realized she really hadn't known much about Spike at all.

When he had reached the former parking lot that still housed that horrible tower for the first time since her death, she could tell his first instinct was to grab a steel pipe and start smashing the place to ruins. He even went as far as grabbing one. But then his gaze – angry flames in icy blue – fell on the plank she had thrown herself down from and the fire died. He stood there, frozen, for a long, long time. Then he carefully set down the pipe exactly where he had found it and went to find the Buffybot.

What happened then astounded her. It didn't take him long to locate its body and then its head, but while she would have expected him to be as careful with it than he had been with the pipe, he simply threw its body over his shoulder and grabbed its head by the hair.

It was a gruesome sight, even though she knew it was just a robot. But why he hadn't acted emotional at all would take her a few more days to figure out.

He had carried her, back then.

~o~o~o~o~

_It takes a lot out of you to mourn the woman you love. _

_A lot more energy than you have left after the battle that cost her life. A lot more time than you have when sunrise is creeping nearer and nearer. _

_You consider staying, not saying anything and just dusting at her side. But then you look at Dawn, at the brave, brave girl you promised you'd protect until the end of the world and beyond it and you know you have no right to die for good, because if you had done your job, she wouldn't have gotten hurt. _

_Buffy wouldn't have jumped. _

_You want to say something when Dawn suddenly looks at you and says:_

_"We should get out of here. The sun will rise soon."_

_You appreciate it, almost. You love the little bit. You need to be there for her, even if you'll just be a walking shell of a man._

_Harris says emotionlessly: _

_"So what?"_

_And the Niblet answers: _

_"I don't want Spike to get hurt."_

_Harris actually looks guilty. _

_"I should go check on Anya anyway."_

_He brought her to the hospital, soon after we all found Buffy and came back as soon as he found out she was going to be alright. Might have told him as much. Let him take care of his girl. You like Anya. _

_The old man moves for the first time since he sat down next to the body. His voice sounds strange. _

_"We should take her with us."_

_Red's face scrunches up again with tears and she buries it in Glinda's neck. _

_Harris's tone wobbles. _

_"I'll carry her."_

_You look up. _

_"No."_

_Try to find a reason, any reason why you should be the one to carry her._

_"You can hardly walk."_

_He snorts. Something that would have been a snort anywhere else, but even that git seems kinder here._

_"Says the guy who's actually limping."_

_Just make him let you carry her._

_"'m a vampire. Doesn't bloody matter if I'm hurt, does it?"_

_"Of course it does."_

_You haven't heard Glinda speak at all since before, but it almost touches you that she cares. _

_"I can do it. Heal faster than you lot. Probably all fixed by now."_

_You can feel that your leg is still pretty broken, but you know you can carry her without dropping her and that's all that matters. You know you need to. It needs to be you. _

_You will forever be thankful that Rupert says: _

_"Carry her."_

_And that he means you. _

_Harris doesn't object anymore. You can tell he's as tired and worn out and grieved out as the rest of them. He would gladly carry her, but he doesn't look like he could do a single step with her without breaking down from the weight of her death. _

_You can bear it._

_You will bear it._

_You will bear her. _

_You see how Rupert slowly makes his way over to Dawn and helps her up. Lets her lean on him. She's had Buffy's head on her lap up until then, caressing her eyes, stroking a halo of hair out of them. Now she lets it carefully back to the ground. _

_You look back down at Buffy. You've crawled closer over the course of the past few hours. You're almost touching her now, but you need this excuse to do it. You know you don't get to, you have no right to, but you need it. Feel her soft skin, her tiny frame one last time and more intimately than she had ever allowed it in life. _

_You're very careful. You've never been as careful with anything or anyone else, not even Dru. You scoop her up softly, sliding your hands under her fragile little body until you can hold her. You don't want her head to hang towards the ground, so you lay it on your neck and make sure it can't slip. _

_She is still warm, not as warm as before, but warmer than you and her motions are still fluid, even if they aren't her own anymore. You're grateful for that. _

_She is even smaller when you hold her like this. Her eyes are closed, as they have been since we found her, her eyelashes flutter in the soft breeze. Her hair tickles your skin._

_There is no heartbeat, no blood pounding through her veins. She is completely silent._

_She looks peaceful. _

_You slowly stand up. Your leg hurts. You can't support your weight fully with it, but you have to. _

_So you do. _

_It will heal. It will all heal. _

_Buffy won't heal. _

_You won't heal._

_**To be continued...**  
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